“Whenever . . . the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant between me and you . . . .”—Genesis 9:14-15
After that horrible Flood, there was an olive leaf, and then a beautiful rainbow: pregnant with the promise of redemption and renewal—which is why we laughed (uncontrollably) on the hotel shuttle bus, when a rainbow appeared in the sky above the entrance to Grounds for Sculpture, a New Jersey sculpture garden.
Because let’s face it, Alanis Morissette was wrong: there’s nothing ironic about rain on your wedding day—especially when you’re getting married outside at six, and it’s raining cats and dogs at five. But the deluge subsided just in time, as if by Divine Intervention, and a magical rainbow appeared—a rainbow that seemed to say that the Flood of tears—and freak-outs and blow-ups and money and time and effort—was all so very worth it.
Because this—this wedding, made out of the hearts, wallets, and imaginations of faulted human beings, was perfect in every detail. From the bride’s dress to the groom’s promise to grab his wife’s ass, each and every day, so long as we both shall live.
(for Lara and Edwin)
—John Faithful Hamer, The Myth of the Fuckbuddy (2016)